The Bet
by xXSuzuXx
Summary: Haytham and Connor play a game of Six Man's Morris. Haytham losses. 'nuff said. Pure smut, don't read if you don't like.


"You have lost." Stated Connor and his father bristled from across the table.

Ever stubborn and ever proud, Haytham straightened. "Not so." Yet no matter how long he peered over the game of Six Man's Morris.

An hour prior father and son had made a little bet. Whoever lost would be at the mercy of the other for a day, even if it meant the death of him. Haytham then had been so confident in himself, assured that Connor had not a chance against him. 'I will not lose against a simpleton such as yourself.' And the way his father had gestured at him in a dignified flourished had made his blood boil.

Yet it was as Haytham had said. Up until very recently, Connor had been well on his way to losing, and it had only made his father more self-assured. Desperate and quickly running out of options, it had been in the moment Haytham had glanced away to measure the time out the window that the Assassin had made a minor switch in their pieces that changed the tide entirely and in his haste, Haytham had thankfully not noticed.

This took them to their current standings. With but four pieces left on the board, Haytham's pieces had been blocked and remained without any further possible moves. There was nothing he could do and after staring for long minutes, he finally sat back and folded his arms over his chest with a defeated huff. "Very well." He said at last. "I can accept a loss. In this, at least. I will give you credit for not being so simpleminded as I thought.

Even in his loss, Haytham still managed to infuriate Connor, who until then had worn a victorious smirk. How his father could manage to be so impossible was beyond his comprehension but without a word, he rose, and seeing he was expected to do the same, Haytham followed but unlike his son, who left his chair facing the wrong direction, took a moment to push his chair in. This, however unexplainable, frustrated him further.

Solemnly, Connor extended a hand and latched firmly onto the Templar's wrist and began tugging him along, marching from the tavern with the older man in tow. On his way out, he idly tossed coin in the direction of the serving-lady who had provided both with ale and he heard Haytham mutter something about the gesture being 'rude'. Connor did not care.

Through the stone streets of Boston they half walked-half marched. "Where are we going?" Called Haytham at some point.

"Somewhere."

"Could you be any less specific?" Hissed Haytham as Connor tugged him roughly, causing him to nearly lose his balance- and his hat in the process.

"I could try." Replied Connor.

They arrived shortly at the inn Connor had been staying at. He offered only a gruff grunt to the innkeeper who greeted them, but continued to tug his father upstairs to the room he had been given. Behind them he shut, and locked the door, Haytham all the while eying the young half-blood questioningly.

Once shut in, the Assassin had the Templar pinned to the wall in a fluid movement and as Haytham thought he might die here, he was met with an entirely different kind of attack. Moving in swiftly, Connor captured Haytham's lips in his own, and in the older man's shock, was able to claim his mouth fully as his own.

Fingers still locked around his father's wrist, his tongue flicked lightly over his lips, and as a tiny gasp of surprise passed the man's lips, Connor took advantage of the opportunity and pushed his tongue passed Haytham's teeth and swiped along the roof of his mouth possessively, locking with the other's tongue, albeit frozen and taking his time to ravish the older man's wet cavern, tongue flicking over every nook and memorizing the layout before withdrawing at last to inhale deeply. A thin trail of saliva connected them briefly and his eyes registered the apparent shock upon Haytham's expression. "Conn-"

Connor arched an eyebrow questioningly, somewhat proud to have taken the man so thoroughly aback. "What?"

There was a pause of silence between them as Haytham composed himself, straightening his collar in a frustratingly calm manner. "You kiss like a dog in heat." Said the grandmaster at last.

Brows twitching in irritation, Connor swept in again and this time guided the man towards the soft bed to the corner of the room. However reluctant he seemed, Haytham followed, and as he was pushed back lightly, he sat. There was uncertainty upon his aging features, but not disgust and that in itself was encouraging. "What is it you intend to do, exactly?" Inquired Haytham, suspiciously.

As Connor leaned forward onto the bed, the bed creaked. "Exactly as I please. Until the end of today, you are mine." As if to confirm this, he nipped lightly at Haytham's chin, then rose again.

Sighing, Haytham leaned back, supporting himself on his hands. "How very specific."

Grunting, Connor searched around for something, and Haytham watched him, swallowing his nerves in order to appear collected. What Connor returned with was an alarming amount of rope, and already, Haytham found himself tense. "Undress." Demanded the young man. Haytham bristled, and glared up at him defiantly. "Now." Though still slightly defiant, Haytham obeyed.

It was too slow going for Connor, who soon grew impatient and swatted the man's hands away. With only his caplet tossed aside, it was not fast enough. "You are too slow." He told his father disapprovingly.

"My apologies. Would you prefer that I expose myself fully to you like a young whore?"

"Yes." He had hardly the time to acknowledge the slight flush upon his father's cheeks, as he began to fight immediately with his buttons. It was struggle, as he was never very skilled with buttons, and Haytham chuckled.

"I can see why. It seems no one has ever thought to teach you about buttons." Teased Haytham, who merely stared downwards and watched.

Irritated, Connor gritted his teeth. "Do not speak to me like a child." He grumbled as he finally peeled the man's jacket away and continued. It was hardly a challenge from there to bare the man's chest and finally, he pushed him back against the mattress, contenting himself with the slightly disgruntled expression upon his father's face as he began working at his breeches instead.

"You intend to go through with this." Realized Haytham. "Are you sure you would not prefer for me to introduce you to one of the young women in town? I know of many, and I am sure they would be willing to lie with you."

Slightly offended, Connor sighed. "If I wanted them, I would have them." The implied 'I want you' remained unspoken, and if he understood at all, Haytham did not show it. "Stay still." He told his father next. However reluctantly, the man complied, even as Connor found the center of the rope and guiding the older man's hands behind his back, tied his wrists firmly together.

"What are you doing?" Asked Haytham, who could only sit back and watch as Connor looped the rope over his shoulders and delicately guided the rope until he had formed an intricate hog tie.

Having found himself distracted with the many knots and loops, it was not until he finished that he sat up to find Haytham looking increasingly shame-faced and far less comfortable. Somewhat proud of himself, he pulled the man to sit upon his knees and withdrew a piece of fabric from one of the pouches at his hips. This he used as a blindfold and the discomfort the man displayed was undeniable. "Connor?"

Possessively, he nipped just behind Haytham's ear, where his ear met his skull and by the shudder that wracked the man, he knew he had found a particularly sweet spot and made note of the information for later. "I intend to destroy your rotten sense of pride, father and have you for my own."

Through gritted teeth, Haytham replied, "Good luck."

All of Connor's irritation returned, and he nipped a bit too roughly at the man's sensitive spot, his hands running along Haytham's spine as he shuddered, a gasp on his lips. "I will find every one of your spots and have you crying for more. I will do all the things your mind will hate and your body will adore. And I make good on all of my promises."

For the time being, however, he took care to stir the man's body. His lips worked idly at the grandmaster's neck, took particular care to tease and work at a more sensitive area along his collarbone and savoured the groan he earned when he took one of the prideful man's hardened nubs between his lips, first delicate, then rolling the pink skin between his teeth. Haytham tried to move, to no avail. He succeeded only in digging the rope into his wrists and exposing his body more to Connor, who hummed appreciatively. Blindfolded, each tiny affection was all the more sensual and soon Connor had his father where he wanted him. "For an old man you sure are excitable." Commented Connor, with every intention of embarrassing Haytham.

He seemed successful, and Haytham hissed something that might have been a threat. "Wait here." Said Connor as he pulled back abruptly, shuffled off the bed and got to his feet. There were no further words; nothing to explain where he was going or when he would be back, or even if he would. Silently, he left the room, and while the door clicked shut behind him, there was no sound of any lock.

Shocked, Haytham stared blindly in the direction of the door, mouth slightly agape. "Connor!" He called, irritation and uncharacteristic uncertainty weighing his tone. "Connor, come back here now." He demanded, only to receive no response. The door was unlocked, and just knowing that filled him with a sense of dread. Anyone could come in and see him as he was, bound and lewd. And for reasons he could not have described, it made him all the more excitable and no amount of effort could will away the arousal between his legs.

For the better half of an hour he was left alone, helpless and squirming and every so often attempting to escape the ropes that bound him. Any of his struggling only succeeded in tightening the ropes that bound him; leaving angry red marks across his wrists, ankles and thighs. When the door swung open with a loud creak, he was alerted immediately, sitting straighter in time to hear the door close, and thankfully lock behind whoever entered. "Connor?" Called Haytham, blind, confused but hopeful.

There was no response, at least not vocally, even as the person, who carried the weight of a man, climbed onto the bed with him. "Connor?" He asked again. There was still no reply and who was surely a man, pressed his lips to Haytham's. Anxiety passed through him. Unlike what he had received before, the giver was patient and deliberate, but paused to nip at his lips or at the corners of his mouth every so often.

The man pulled away, and this time it was Haytham who was left struggling for air. He felt calloused hands at his shoulders, and wondered who it was who was in the room with him. Could someone else have wandered into the room to see him as he was now and decided to take advantage of the situation? Just the thought of a stranger having his way with him turned his cheeks a deep scarlet. To have his senses robbed from him left him feeling vulnerable and exposed. The stranger must have sensed as much, and chapped lips touched either side of his cheek, cool against his own warmth. They seemed to be telling him to relax, but he could not. Haytham remained tense and suspicious, unwilling to show any signs of vulnerability to anyone, much less this mystery man.

"Connor, I swear, if this is y- hng.." The man had found the spot behind his ear and successfully silenced him. To muffle a groan, Haytham buried his teeth deep in his bottom lip, chin tilting upwards to expose his neck more when he felt lips upon his jawline and neck. He was becoming less certain. Where Connor might have been awkward, this man showed only confidence and inexplicable skill. Or perhaps without sight to aid him he was merely imagining things. Bared teeth dug into the base of his neck and he shuddered.

The silence was picking at his confidence and robbing him of what little comfort remained. As the man's hands fell to his hips for support and began rubbing gentle circles into his hips, Haytham shuddered and flexed, filled both with pleasure and disgust. How could he respond so passionately while not knowing who was touching him? The very thought of it made him squirm. Yet the man did not stop, his teeth, tongue and lips left wet marks upon almost every inch of his neck and shoulders and reduced his breaths to struggled panting. "Shit.." He cursed.

"T-tell me who you are." He groaned, tensing with pleasure when plump lips found and marred his collarbone with practiced affection. Still, there was only silence, and he wished wistfully that he could at least reach out and feel the man's face. That way he might know who he was, or be able to piece together what he looked like.

His heart hammered in his chest as he felt hot breath splay across his still perked nipples and recoiled ever so slightly to avoid it. But his assailant followed and the wet tongue upon such an erogenous area caused him to cry out in pleasure.

Along with his pleasure, his level of anxiety was steadily rising. "Unf…" He groaned, and was stuck between wanting to continue and wanting to stop. Whether he truly wanted for it or not, there was no going anywhere and he feared that this could not have been Connor. Did he want for his son to return soon? He was not sure whether he wanted for him to return soon to tear the stranger away, or for him to keep away so he would not perhaps to see him as he was and mock him.

The man dragged his teeth along one nipple and caused Haytham to moan, then switched to tease the other in much the same manner. A pool of pleasure formed in the pit of his stomach and yet he made a tremendous effort to ignore it. To fight off the pleasure and somehow escape this humiliating position where he was reduced almost to nothing.

Without warning, the man began to shift his attention downwards again, leaving nips and bites along the muscles of his stomach, downwards to his navel and further still. For a moment, there was nothing, and in the sudden chill Haytham shivered.

Then the man's lips were on his balls, mouthing something that might have been a rude comment against him as Haytham's hips bucked, held firmly still by the man's hands and he groaned. "W-wait." He gasped, biting down on his lip uselessly as another moan passed his now swollen lips. He bit down harder, but still it did him no good and the man's tongue snaked around his hardened cock, now dripping with pre and exposed in the damp air. Lightly, the man gnawed at his balls, causing his hips to buck wildly in anticipation and his erection to grow wet.

There was no mercy showing. The man hungrily licked, sucked and nipped every inch of Haytham his mouth could find, slow and careful in every way. He teased, bobbed his head, stopped when Haytham seemed to become too worked up for his liking, and began again. He did not seem to mind the pre-cum that bubbled from the tip of the man's erection and into his mouth and in one instance ran his tongue along the tip of his cock, running along and playfully past the foreskin as if he were some sort of toy. It was both humiliating and arousing.

When the man stopped, it was again without warning, and this time his hips bucked in protest. He could feel a smirk upon his lips as he was kissed, and tasted his own sex upon the man's lips with a protestant hiss. Then the strong hands that had been holding him in place snaked around to his backside, and a pair of fingers rubbed delicately as the base of his spine. Anxiously, he tensed and unexpected panic suddenly overtook him and he began to struggle. Taken by a stranger? He could not abide it, and so he fought.

If the man the minded at all, he did not show it, and after prodding at his entrance briefly, a finger slipped past the first ring of muscle. "N-no." He gasped, trying to lift his hips up and away from the man, whoever it was. He was not allowed and guided back again. "Stop this." But the man's lips were upon his ear again, and a strained moan was released into the air. "D-damn- ah, damn you. I said stop." The panic was becoming increasingly noticeable, surging forth and stinging at the corners of his eyes and he felt strongly ashamed of himself, for he refused to show such raw emotion to another. He would not show fear, much less tears and he fought desperately against himself.

"Stop p-please." And his voice came out strained and broken. If the man had not minded before, he minded now, and immediately his fingers were withdrawn.

"Father?" Came Connor's voice.

Immediately he felt incredibly foolish and shamed at the same time, and yet flooded with a sense of relief. He should have known, but to not be sure… to not be able to see. Now he only wished for Connor not to remove the blindfold and see his distress.

Of course, the younger man could not resist, and as the makeshift blindfold was peeled away, he saw something few had ever seen before. The grandmaster of the Templars clearly distressed, both aroused, panicked and eyes wet with unshed tears. Haytham scowled and stubbornly turned his head away, uselessly.

"I'm sorry, I did not intend-"

"Be quiet." Snapped Haytham. "Do not speak of it." Face fully flushed and teeth bared in a scowl, Connor merely stared for a moment, blinking. "I am fine. You dunderhead, if only you had more sense."

While his father continued to grumble and complain, Connor chuckled. Delicately, he pressed his lips to either side of each of his father's eyes and tasted salt. "I make no promises." He replied, and kissed his father to silence any protest he might make. Figuring himself safe now, his hands wandered to the Templar's backside again and when Haytham made no visible protest with his prodding, slipped his finger inside again and after a moment, a second. Though tight, it seemed the man was no virgin and he felt a pang of jealousy. "It seems you have had much experience… was this with Lee?"

"It is no business of yours." Replied Haytham, guardedly.

It was Connor's time to scowl, and he almost wished he had not given his father the satisfaction of knowing it was he who had returned. Impatiently, he removed his fingers and began to hastily remove his breeches, exposing himself, spitting and lubricating his erection. "You won't mind this, then." Haytham only noticed in time to brace himself as Connor lifted his hips and guided him, propping his erection against his entrance and firmly pushing through the ring of muscle. Haytham grunted, but did not cry out.

"Have you no patience?" Hissed Haytham, in pain.

Connor did not reply, only pushed further until Haytham was impaled as much as he could be. There, at least, there was a brief pause so that the older man might properly adjust himself. Then Connor continued. The pace he set was fast and rough, and his fingers snaked around Haytham's erection so that he might overwhelm him faster. His lips fell to that sweet spot behind his ear and he whispered meaningless words to him in his own language. From the earlier teasing, Haytham was already dangerously near reaching his peak. His hips bucked and body trembled violently, but his moans remained muffled, stubbornly.

It was with a possessive bite that would likely leave a mark that finally pushed the grandmaster over the edge, and as his muscles clenched around him, Connor as well. In an overload of senses, Haytham cried out in pleasure and leaned forward; burying his face in Connor's still clothed shoulder and biting hard. The younger merely pulled his father close as he spilled hot seed over their stomachs and Connor filled him. Then they collapsed onto the bed, panting and breathless until finally, Haytham spoke. "Not bad," He breathed. "For a young pup."

Connor tried his best to be angry, but found a smile curled upon his lips instead. He leaned in to press a chaste kiss to the older man's lips. "Not bad," He echoed. "For an old man." He replied, and Haytham scoffed.

Thoroughly exhausted, it was not long before the elder had fallen asleep and Connor diligently untied the ropes that bound him, cleaned the mess they had left behind and covered him. He intended to leave then, but fell asleep in the late hours of the night.

When he woke again, it was to the sound of Haytham dressing himself and as he sat up, he watched the man brush his shoulder off in an infuriatingly calm manner. "You're leaving." Connor stated.

"You don't miss a thing." Replied Haytham, glancing back. "Today is a new day and my debt to you is settled." He winced as he stepped forward, Connor at least had some comfort that this was not an experience he would soon forget. He was on his feet in an instant, and pulled the older man close to him, finding that spot behind his ear and savouring the way the grandmaster shuddering when he blew on it.

"Tell you a secret." He whispered.

Haytham hummed. "What is it?" He asked, curiously.

"I cheated in that game last night."

Though he tensed, Haytham said nothing and showed no traces of anger in his expression. He only stomped hard on Connor's foot and sent the younger recoiling before leaving the room, no longer as infuriatingly collected as before.

A tiny smirk touched Connor's features. "Goodbye, father."


End file.
